The King of England will stop at nothing to prevent the fulfilment of a prophecy he receives whilst at war in Scotland. Even if that means committing genocide against the Celtic people.
Armed with the power of the Celtic Deities they have descended...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Photo: @mintygremlin on Instagram
Firmin ran till his feet betrayed him. He knew it would only be a matter of hours before the imperial army and the Kerrs discovered the bodies of the wolf Chieftains, the stag, and the remains of Duncan's wife Cayla. His mind wandered as he panted through the woods. Athelstan sent me off after them... what will he think when he is informed that the baby and I are missing? Whatever the case, his instinct told him that he had to get as far away from Dunalastair Castle as possible.
Is it too late to turn back?
If I took the baby to Athelstan, would he believe me if I told him the stag was responsible for the death of both the brothers? Could things ever go back to the way they were?
He paused for the first time in what felt like hours. He unwrapped the swaddling cloths that shrouded the sleeping baby. The babies chubby little face scrunched in dissatisfaction as it was exposed to the frigid air.
"So you're Finn eh?" he spoke softly as he put a delicate hand behind the babies head to support it.
Finn's arms outstretched towards the Knight, his fingers wriggling in an attempt to grasp Firmin and return to the warm comfort of his embrace. His small eyes glowed in the pale light as they opened briefly to see what the problem was. When all else had failed, he began to sob quietly.
"It's okay lad, it's okay," Firmin whispered, getting the message. He covered Finn once more and nestled him tightly.
No. I cannot turn back now. I must deliver this baby safely to his kin. There is no home, no future for him here.
Slivers of the sun's radiant light began to creep through the forest and catch the reflective surface of the Knight's tarnished armour. His eyes had become accustomed to the all-consuming darkness of the night; causing his face to crinkle like a worn piece of leather when the light reached his pupils. He was facing the sunrise, realising he had been heading East this entire time.
Duncan married a Macleod, he thought to himself. I'm headed in the wrong direction!
He had never been farther North than Kinloch, but he had heard of the legends of the mighty Stags of Macleod, that ruled the isolated Hebridian isles.
"Barabel!" he muttered aloud in sudden realisation. He froze in place, as he felt his mind rip him in conflicting directions like the limbs of a man broken on the rack. Firmin's chin dipped to his chest as his posture slumped, "I'm sorry lad... you're... you're going to have to wait a bit to be reunited with your family." Baby Finn remained asleep, completely oblivious to Firmin's predicament.
"I'll take your silence as acceptance of my proposal then?" He sighed uneasily as he felt his breathing begin to labour, "I don't know if I could live with myself without knowing if Barabel is alright."
Maybe we could?
No. I was responsible for the death of her Clan. Her family.
